A Gradual Unveiling
by gentlewinnix
Summary: A twist on the tales - Haddock is born a woman, and disguises herself as a man to follow her dream of becoming a sailor. Along the way, she learns valuable lessons about herself and the world around her. Haddotin.


**Author's Note: **Tags include: AU - Historical, Sex Swap(s), World War I, World War II, Lesbian Culture, Backstory, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Q slur*, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Butch/Femme.

*The word 'queer' in this work is used in its original and period-typical context as a slur against homosexual people, calling them 'weird' or 'deviant.' No offense is intended.

Also, a heads-up: there is a brief scene in which a lesbian character has consensual sex with a man that she regrets afterwards. It's not violent or anything like that, but it may be uncomfortable to read.

* * *

Since she was a child, Aileen Haddock - _Allie_, they'd called her, and she'd hated it even then - had never quite fit in. Her family was cursed, dwindled until it was just her and her Mum and Granddaddy, her father killed on the docks in a tragic accident that might've been the fault of his drinking. Mum was strict, insistent that _little Allie_ wear ruffled yellow dresses and white tights, that she play teatime with her dolls and the girls who lived next door and say please and thank you. But, inevitably, Haddock would sneak off to play with the boys down the street, getting mud on her clothes and playing master and commander; Haddock always the captain of their vessel.

In her early teens her mother gave in, too concerned with her work at the sewing factory to be around much anyway, and only requested Haddock at least try to look nice for Sunday breakfasts. Granddaddy called her a _tomboy_ and ruffled her hair, which she'd cut herself one night in the bathtub, much to the horror of her mother, and then he'd asked Haddock's Mum if he might take her down to the docks.

"Absolutely not," she had said. "Aileen is a _lady_, you need not encourage her- her _tomfoolery_ any further."

"A look won't hurt," he'd urged. "Perhaps she will see that it's shite work after all, Mairead."

Haddock's Mum had sighed then, stared longingly at the drink menu as Haddock eagerly anticipated her response. "You'll sneak her there anyway, I suppose."

And so Granddaddy had taken Haddock down to the docks the next day, dressed in her favorite overlarge black trousers and a grey knit sweater, and all the men at the docks mistook her for a boy, but she was fine with that, even savored their surprise when she corrected them. She peered up at the ships in amazement, was even invited onto the deck of one and allowed to touch the ship's helm and blow the horn, just once.

That night she swore to herself that she'd become a sailor, no matter what it took.

* * *

When Haddock began secondary school, she learned of another way she was different. The few friends she'd made who were girls seemed to suddenly become obsessed with boys, bickering and squealing over them like some sort of pet they all clamoured to spoil - particularly, the kind of pet that had no real care for them whatsoever. It made Haddock's stomach turn to see it and she grew distant, feeling disdainful, but also quietly wondering if there was something wrong with her that she never felt inclined to fawn over anyone at all.

In her final year of school, Granddaddy fell ill. It was a month before the doctor warned that death was near, and when he felt it was time he called Haddock to his bedside and told her the story of her ancestor Francis Haddock and his _Unicorn's_ ill-fated voyage. With his dying breath, he gifted Haddock with his own sailor's cap and told her firmly, _you hit a wall, you push through it._

That night, Haddock drank for the first time in her life. She drank until she was sick, Mum's hand rubbing circles against her back as she heaved into the toilet, and then she was carried to her bed.

In the morning, she'd forgotten everything.

After Haddock finished school, she focused again on her dream of sailing. But none would hire her because of her sex, and she was told to go work in the sewing factories or as a secretary; a _woman's job._

Haddock was furious.

But then the Great War began, and she had an idea.

It was simple enough to make herself look like a man - with her hair cut short and wearing a shapeless sweater alone she was often mistaken for a man already, and once she'd learned how to bind her chest the illusion was complete. With her thick build she had no skinny waist nor especially wide hips to hide, and she had never liked to shave anyway.

The Merchant Navy was less strict with physical and medical exams in those days, more concerned with quantity than quality for the war efforts, and Haddock somehow got through the physical without taking her undershirt or shorts off. She became known as Archibald Haddock, an insignificant deck hand on the _Courageux._ It was everything she had dreamed - a rickety cot in the bunks, rigging and deck maintenance duties, the sight and smell of the open ocean every morning, and of course, the company of other sailors.

She was quick to make friends, most notably with a rowdy ginger man named Chester. At the end of a shift they would kick back with some rum or whiskey and talk. If they were on deck they'd smoke, Chester having procured tobacco and a pipe for them to share. There was a war on, of course, but it never felt close to them; Chester taught Haddock the ways of sailors and men until she blended in seamlessly with the others.

Of course, she had quite forgotten one thing.

When her period came (late, as it ran in the family, for already she was 19); it was only because of Chester that she was able to hide it. He was shocked, of course, to see that his friend Archie was actually a woman, but she explained it to him as he gave her a quantity of cotton gauze he'd taken from the infirmary, and he agreed to keep her secret, as he was rather fond of her company.

Chester was the only one of all her war buddies to know- but it was not because she intended to keep it secret from them forever.

It was in December of 1916, several months after Italy had declared war on Germany, and Germany had subsequently entered a complete military dictatorship under the Hindenburg Plan. The Atlantic was teeming with German U-boats and countless merchant ships had been sunk already, an incomprehensible number of both civilian and military lives lost to the War to End All Wars. The _Courageux_ had so far evaded all German submarines thanks to their navigator's careful planning, and Haddock and Chester had been made Second and Third Mate beneath the ship's Captain.

The ship was fitted with guns in response to all the losses, all of the crew trained to fire them; and the aerial depth charge had recently been invented and deployed for service. Since the early days there was a procedure to the sinking of merchant ships- the U-boat would surface and announce its attack, giving the crew adequate time to escape before sinking the ship. But after the new depth charges had seen the end of a U-boat off the coast of Belgium, the _Courageux_ was suddenly fated to see the end of this fair play.

It was a blustery winter night, and they had many kilometers to sail yet. The waters were calm, black in the moonlight, and Haddock stood beside the Captain at the ship's helm, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea. The First Mate had come down with a bit of a cold and was in his quarters, resting, so Haddock fell in second and took to her duty seriously. She'd learned the tricks of navigation and the use and maintenance of the ship's distress signal equipment accordingly, and had joined the Captain to keep him company.

"You'll make a fine Captain one day, Haddock," Captain Davies had said, and then all hell had broke loose.

Six torpedoes and a flak gun on the deck. That was the armament of the German U-boats. The torpedoes were precious, and under normal circumstances one would fire its 88s before any attempt with the torpedoes, but something changed that night. It was like nothing Haddock had ever experienced before. There was a glint of steel in the water- port side, was all she registered - and then a deep, chest-rumbling _boom_ that tipped the _Courageux_ to one side and sent water all across the deck. Within an instant Haddock was fetching Chester, telling him to wake the crew; running to the radio room and sending a distress signal, her hands shaking. There was another _boom_ and the sound of steel being punctured somewhere, and then there was gunfire from the deck, men running to their positions in hopes of warding off the U-boat before it could sink the ship.

She received a message that help was on the way, and ran to the deck to deliver to the Captain.

Then the Germans fired the 88s. A round hit the deck by the Captain's feet and exploded, knocking Haddock off her feet. There was pain, and for a moment all she could think was, _I'm dead, they've killed me._ But then Chester's face was above hers and her ears were ringing, all the noise around her distorted, as if she were underwater. When she turned her head she saw the remains of Captain Davies and the First Mate.

She was Captain now.

* * *

Haddock doesn't remember much else about that night. All she knows for certain is that when she woke up two days later, she was in a private hospital room, Chester at her side, bandaged and looking grim.

"No survivors," he said. "Just us."

Haddock looked down at herself, finding the binding gone, the bandages around her body covering injuries now, rather than her sex.

"Did anyone-"

"No," Chester said. "Just the doctor and two nurses. They promised to keep it secret." He grinned then, but it looked hollow. "Said yer a hero, you deserve a proper send off once you've healed."

"So I can't go back."

"Good heavens no, Archie, why would you want to?" Chester shook his head. "Anywho- yer pretty doped up, you probably can't feel much- but your shoulder caught most of it. Doc said it's a broken- uh, acro, acro-clavicle-joint something or other, mainly. You won't be able to lift anything over your head for a long time now. Some shrapnel got around, too."

Haddock nodded, gazing down at the bedsheets. It was over, she was sure. She'd never set foot on a ship again- not as a merchant marine, and certainly not as herself. Women were expressly forbidden from boarding, much less _operating_, ships which were not for civilians. Her throat ached suddenly and she was horrified to find herself crying, something she hadn't indulged in many years.

"Hey now," Chester crooned gently, taking her hand. "It's alright, lass. What's done is done."

"You don't understand," Haddock mumbled, forlornly. "I'll never be allowed on a ship again, not like that. Not as a woman."

Chester frowned. "Who said you have to be a woman?"

"What?"

The ginger smiled then, mischief lurking in his blue eyes. "Just cos' you're not Archibald Haddock of the Merchant Navy doesn't mean you gotta stop being Archibald Haddock for'ver. You could get on a civvie vessel no problem as Archie. An' I'll always be around to put in a good word for ya."

Haddock looked up at Chester, feeling a smile cross her face. "You're right," she said. "I can be whoever I want, can't I?"

"Of course you can, love," Chester encouraged, grinning. He seemed to falter for a moment, then bent down and kissed Haddock's cheek. He straightened up with a blush on his cheeks, smiling giddily. "You're capable of anything."

And Chester had been right. As Archie, she could do anything at all. But first she'd had to wait for her shoulder to heal. It was three weeks of compression and ice on her shoulder, a surgery when it hadn't begun to heal right, and then the same thing again until she was ready for physical therapy. After being immobilized for so long, her arm was weak and felt diminished. Still, she didn't let it bring her down. In the meantime she had moved in with Chester, not wanting to return home to Mum and face her thunderous anger, and took up his guest room for a while before they moved on to other things.

She'd kissed him one night when they were drunk, whispered that she knew Chester wanted her, could see it in his eyes all these years, and he'd licked his lips and husked, "So what if I do?"

With her sling gone now her arm was free to curl around his shoulders, bringing him close, and she kissed him again. This time he'd responded, choking out a quiet little moan and parting his lips for her tongue. She'd pressed him down into the couch and plucked open his shirt buttons, and soon they were both topless, Chester's mouth warm on her neck, his rough palms on her bare breasts, and he said, "Let's take this upstairs."

It was the first time she'd had sex, the first time she'd kissed, even, and afterwards she found that she felt absolutely nothing for Chester at all. She felt...defiled, even. His being inside of her had felt like a trespass, even if she had consented to it.

_What's wrong with me?_ She wondered.

In the morning Chester coaxed her into more wet kisses and ground against her leg, but she pulled away and insisted they have breakfast first, feigning empty-stomached grumpiness. Over eggs and ham she told him how she felt. Chester looked hurt, but he seemed to understand, and cleaned up while she went to shower.

"I'm sorry," she said later, as she was leaving. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Don't apologize," he said quietly. "You can't force yourself to have feelings for anyone, lass."

Haddock had set out on her own then, on a mission of sorts. She'd settled down on a nice spot at the docks and thought for a very long time about her own wants. She realized she had never seen men as anything more than companions; friends and coworkers to chat and roughhouse with. But women- she couldn't dare to think of it, but she forged on- women had always held an allure. She'd never much cared for frilly dresses or makeup herself, but she was intrigued by the way other girls her age painted their faces and twirled in dresses, as beautiful and awe-inspiring as goddesses. When beautiful girls had real, genuine personalities- not making every effort to impress men- she often found that her heart beat faster and she grew hot, flustered and inexplicably shy.

Haddock allowed herself to wonder what it was like to love another woman. Listening to the crewmen talk about sleeping with women had always felt embarrassing to her, the men themselves too randy, too perverse. But the stories had made her wet between the legs, imagining pretty ginger and blonde girls stepping out of their dresses, revealing the lingerie they wore beneath. Sweet kisses and moans of pleasure as they were breached. Lipstick prints on warm flesh. The first night she'd listened to their stories, Haddock had been so flustered she had to excuse herself, finding she'd soiled her underwear with all the excitement.

She'd denied it to herself all along, but she was beginning to realize now that she felt more for women than she ought to. _Queer_, was the word they used, and it was often spit in disgust, fear. She knew there were men of that inclination in the Navy, that long trips at sea made them more open to seeking sex with other men. But she'd begun to wonder if that wasn't just an excuse, that these men hadn't been that way all along. That it was more than sex, for them.

She wondered if what they felt- what drove them to sodomy and even infidelity- if that wasn't love.

* * *

After two long months of healing and introspection, she was ready to head home. She'd been temporarily discharged from the Merchant Navy, her shoulder too damaged for her to return to duty for at least a year, her true identity kept secret, and Chester was called back to service on a new ship. She packed her bags and bade him farewell as he departed for the docks, and she walked the two miles back to her mother's apartment.

It'd been three years. Mum would be furious, she knew- she'd not written home once since leaving to board the _Courageux._ She'd hesitated at the door, steeling herself, and knocked.

The door swung open hardly a breath later.

"Aileen," her mother gasped. She looked older now; in three years she seemed to have aged ten. Haddock's chest tightened, emotion thick on her tongue as she spoke.

"Hi, Mum."

Mairead stood still, frozen stiff, a tear sliding down her cheek. It was only after Haddock shifted on her feet and hefted her rucksack higher that the older woman blinked out of her trance, breaching the gap between them to embrace her daughter.

"Thank God," she whispered, absolutely trembling. "I thought you'd died, lass."

Haddock didn't quite know what to say to that. Her shoulder smarted and she let out a grunt, gently pushing Mairead away.

"'S my shoulder," she explained. "Shrapnel."

"Goodness," her Mum hissed, "You really did- ah, no matter; come inside 'fore you freeze. I'll put on a kettle, and we'll talk about it over lunch."

Haddock was twenty-two when she returned home to her mother; it would be another two years until the war's end, and during that first year she kept herself busy with simpler work opportunities. She learned to mend fishermen's boats and took to knitting- a skill she'd learned on the _Courageux_, but had never really utilized except to make herself a few socks and sweaters.

As the war dragged on she perfected her skills and made warm sweaters, scarves, gloves and blankets to sell; and the less than perfect ones she give away to poor children she saw in the streets, children who had been robbed of their families and homes and left to roam as beggars until someone with any sort of fortune took pity. Her favorite she kept; a deep blue turtleneck with a ship's anchor painstakingly woven into the center.

She was called back to service once her doctor determined her fit for duty again, and she thanked him for keeping her secret.

"I've got a lass rather like yourself back home," he said with a wink. "She's rooting for you."

Haddock went back to the sea, captaining a merchant vessel which never caught much trouble and whose name she never could recall afterwards.

Mum's hair had begun to grey at the roots when the war ended. Haddock took care to spend more time with her after all was said and done, feeling deeply guilty for the way she'd left without a word before, and when she was able to take to the sea again during peacetime in the winter of 1918 as captain of the vessel _Ladybird_, she promised to write as soon as she was able.

She kept her promise, and never once in all the forty years she would spend at sea did she forget to write a letter to her Mum while at port.

* * *

The nightmares came within a few weeks of her time on the _Ladybird_. The fear and adrenaline would wake her in a cold sweat, and she soon found that only whiskey could calm her.

It started with a routine nightcap.

* * *

Her first love came a few years later.

It was in the early 1930s and she'd sailed the _Ladybird_ countless nautical miles under the guise of Archibald Haddock during both war and peacetime, had seen more of the world than she'd thought possible, had braved the worst of storms and came to know the world's oceans like the back of her hand. She was well into her thirties already, just months away from the ripe age of thirty-five.

She never thought much of anything beyond the sea and her Mum back home in England, but the loneliness was there. It couldn't be helped - even with a loyal crew there would always be a quiet yearning for the comforts of home in a sea captain's heart - and with no-one but her mother to return home to, Haddock found herself wishing for a sweetheart to call her own. More often than not, the bottle was the only thing to keep her company at night.

Since Chester she hadn't slept with anyone, not desiring any of the men in her life and far too nervous to approach any women. She'd accepted her homosexuality, but that was as far as it went. She'd not told anyone, had not acted on her desires; too afraid of the possible consequences. Sodomy was illegal, after all, and though she was a woman she couldn't imagine it was any less illegal for her to lie with another woman than it was for two men to lie together.

In April of 1931, the _Ladybird_ docked at Rats Bay and was dry-docked for repairs. Haddock traveled to London by ferry and stayed at The Dorchester. She spent several days wandering, picking up the odd souvenir to bring home to her newly-acquired flat in Brighton, a trinket or two for her aging mother.

She met Florence at an antique store, as was unsurprising. She was beautiful, her delicate figure clad in a simple deep blue dress and her strawberry-blonde locks carefully plaited into a bun. Haddock was admiring an ancient ship-in-a-bottle when Florence approached her, clearly interested in the model as well.

"The Cutty Sark," she'd said, when Haddock straightened. "One of the last tallships built before steam propulsion became the norm."

Haddock smiled. "Right you are."

"Say," she'd said, looking at Haddock candidly. "You been around Chelsea, by any chance?"

"'Fraid not," Haddock replied. "I hail from Carlisle, originally."

"Ah," she'd said. "Well, there's a place in Chelsea I think you'd like."

Haddock had no idea at that moment what Florence was about to bring her into, but as they walked the distance to this mysterious place in Chelsea, she learned that there was much more to the lass than met the eyes. She was clever, sharp as a tack, and had a definite affinity for the sea. Haddock was charmed, to say the least.

Florence took Haddock to a small building on Kings Road and Bramerton Street; tucked snugly in a residential area. It was unassuming, a blank white wall and a green door, a street light a foot away. She smiled and shushed Haddock when she began to ask what sort of place this was, looking furtively around to be sure they were alone on the street.

She knocked a peculiar beat on the door, and after a moment it was opened by another young woman. Florence ushered Haddock inside quickly, closing the door behind them. Haddock was surprised to find themselves in some sort of tiny parlor, a woman much like herself in build at a desk watching them closely. The girl who'd opened the door hugged Florence, smiling widely.

"I see you've brought another unsuspecting woman along with you," she giggled, and Haddock's heart skipped a beat.

"Ma'am-" she said urgently, but was cut off by Florence.

"We know," she said simply. "No one else would suspect, dear. You'll see." Florence took Haddock's arm then, bringing her towards another door. Haddock realized she could hear music, laughter; muffled through the wall- or the floor? - but undoubtedly present. She followed Florence through the door and down a steep staircase, and they soon entered a windowless cellar that was now, clearly, a private dance hall.

"Welcome to The Gateways," Florence husked, a smile curving across her face, and Haddock realized what was different about this place.

There were no men.

Women filled every space, dancing in pairs and congregating into small groups in the corners. Most wore dresses and women's clothes, but many were dressed in men's clothes; from elaborate three-piece suits to a simple sweater and slacks like Haddock herself wore. There was a bar along the far wall, a woman tending to it as others came and went, fetching drinks for themselves and their companions. On the opposite end she could see doors for a restroom and a cloakroom.

And in the darker corners, at the narrow row of tables tucked away from the dance floor, Haddock saw women together - not just holding hands and dancing like the others, but kissing, in couples and even groups of three or four, trading languorous kisses with lips and tongue in a way that made Haddock flush all over.

"What…" she coughed, peeling her eyes away to look at Florence. "What is this place?"

"The Gates," Florence said, as if it explained everything. "I could tell you were one of us. Shall we?" She held out her hand, nodding towards the floor.

"I- I can't dance," Haddock admitted, embarrassed.

"Well, there's no better way to learn."

And Haddock learned. It was something else, inside the club- so many people in such a small space, all swaying to the music, a cloud of smoke above them and the smell of alcohol strong on the air. Loch Lomond was Haddock's favorite- and she drank far more than she was accustomed to that night. Lust was already heavy in the air, but under the gauze of alcohol she saw Florence in a different light and let herself be seduced, let Florence take her to the corner and capture her lips in a kiss so thorough they were both left breathless afterward.

"Let's go to my place," she'd said, and Haddock allowed that, too.

After, when she laid awake in Florence's bed, the slighter girl tucked against her side, she felt a warmth in her chest and called it love.

* * *

Haddock stayed with Florence off and on for five years. With her career she was often at sea for weeks at a time, months when their destination was outside of Europe. Brighton was two hours from Chelsea, and Haddock couldn't make the trip as often as she might've liked.

In 1935 they broke it off for good, not for fault of hurt feelings but simply because Florence felt too caged by their relationship while Haddock was away so often. They continued to write and met up at The Gateways when Haddock was in the city, and life went on for both of them as usual.

Three years later, with Europe on the verge of war, Haddock learned of a woman in the United States by the name of Mary Parker Converse. She was the first woman to study at the United State's Merchant Marine Academy. Inspired, Haddock began to wonder what might happen if she revealed her own identity. She'd been captaining ships for twenty years already, with a certification and all the bells and whistles that came with it. She was certain some of her crew suspected it, but they were loyal and never spoke a word of it.

She toyed with the idea, but ultimately decided against following through with it.

War was declared on Germany on the third of September, 1939.

Aileen Haddock was forty-three years old.

* * *

In 1945 she returned home to Brighton. Mairead was aging, but still healthy, and Haddock kept busy as always, hardly a pinch of fat on her despite her own age. She grew her hair down to her shoulders for the first time in years, tying it up into a tight bun to hide beneath her cap at work.

Haddock kept herself entertained as she looked for work, frequenting a network of underground clubs Florence and her companions had told her about. She drank and danced and brought nameless, beautiful young women to her bed, and yet she still ached for something more.

The world had changed- but not in the ways Haddock needed it to.

A month later, she found work captaining the _Karaboudjan_ \- the _Black Spirit;_ a Portuguese merchant vessel carrying mostly canned food products and wine between Spain, England, and Morocco. Her crew wasn't the best, many of the men cruel and perverse in varying ways, but they were alright. The first mate, Allan Thompson, made some primal part of Haddock's brain light up with dislike right away. But she snuffed it out. There was no room for petty squabbling at sea, particularly as captain of the vessel.

Still, she couldn't help but feel that something wasn't quite right with that ship.


End file.
